Twas the Night Before Fuzzmas
Posted: Tue Dec 25, 2012 8:56 am
(...with apologies to Clement Clarke Moore...)
'Twas the night before Fuzzmas, when all through the land
Nary a string was stirring, not even Bootsy's Rubber Band;
The fishnet stockings were hung by the power amp with care,
In hopes that Dr. Scientist soon would be there;
The musos were nestled next to the Rastas with dreads,
While visions of snowy Elements danced in their heads;
And hot Mamma with her Strat, and I with my bass slammin',
Had just settled down for a winter eve's jammin',
When outside of the pub there arose such a buzz,
I sprang from the stage to see what was the fuzz.
Away to the parking lot I flew like pyro flashes,
Tore past the smokers outside and dashed through their ashes.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of mid-day to a tour bus on show,
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a massive stack, borne by eight roadies laden with gear,
With a little overdrive, so lively and fine,
I knew in a moment it must be Tanya & Ryan.
More radical than the Eagles' tones his stompboxes could claim,
And he grooved, and shredded, and called them by name;
"Now, Elements! now, Cleanness! now, Tremolessence! and Frazz Dazzler!
On, Cosmichorus! On Sunny Day Delay! On, Radical Red Reverberator! and all you others!
To the top of the charts! to the top of the stacks wall!
Now shred away! shred away! shred away all!"
As dry-ice fog that before the wild hurricane can fly,
When it meets with an obstacle, and kiss the sky,
So up to the stage the roadies they flew,
With road-cases full of tone-toys, and Dr. Scientist too.
And then, in a jangling, I heard on the stand
The rhythm and harmony of each one in his band.
It drew in my ear, and was an amazing sound,
Down by his pedals Dr. Scientist tweaked, as he knelt on the ground.
He was garbed in a spacesuit, from his head to his toe,
And his vestments were tarnished from space-time travel and who knows?
A bundle of patch-cords he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a sonic-tweaker should, with some pedals mounted in a rack.
His tremolo -- how it twinkled! his delays how merry!
His chorus was like a sonic rose, his OD noise just the right amount of hairy!
His droll little reverb sounded like a big chateau,
But the highlight of his effects chain was The Elements as white as the snow;
The stump of a pick he held tight in his teeth,
And his pedals encircled his feet like a robotic wreath;
He had more fuzz than any Fuzzface and dialled it in a little trebly,
That shook the room, when he strummed his candy-red Tele.
His tones ranged from bubbly to plump, aural delights of great wealth,
And I laughed when I heard him, in spite of myself;
A wink of his eye and a tweak of his amp head,
Soon gave me inspiration of new things to shred;
He sang not a word, but went straight to his solo,
And filled all the air; then returned to his tremolo,
And laying his plectrum aside of his pedals,
And giving a nod, his delay trails he continued to fettle;
He then sprang to his bus, to his roadies gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like a moon-bound missile.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove off to parts unknown,
"Happy Fuzzmas to all, and to all a good tone."
Cheers,
FF
'Twas the night before Fuzzmas, when all through the land
Nary a string was stirring, not even Bootsy's Rubber Band;
The fishnet stockings were hung by the power amp with care,
In hopes that Dr. Scientist soon would be there;
The musos were nestled next to the Rastas with dreads,
While visions of snowy Elements danced in their heads;
And hot Mamma with her Strat, and I with my bass slammin',
Had just settled down for a winter eve's jammin',
When outside of the pub there arose such a buzz,
I sprang from the stage to see what was the fuzz.
Away to the parking lot I flew like pyro flashes,
Tore past the smokers outside and dashed through their ashes.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of mid-day to a tour bus on show,
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a massive stack, borne by eight roadies laden with gear,
With a little overdrive, so lively and fine,
I knew in a moment it must be Tanya & Ryan.
More radical than the Eagles' tones his stompboxes could claim,
And he grooved, and shredded, and called them by name;
"Now, Elements! now, Cleanness! now, Tremolessence! and Frazz Dazzler!
On, Cosmichorus! On Sunny Day Delay! On, Radical Red Reverberator! and all you others!
To the top of the charts! to the top of the stacks wall!
Now shred away! shred away! shred away all!"
As dry-ice fog that before the wild hurricane can fly,
When it meets with an obstacle, and kiss the sky,
So up to the stage the roadies they flew,
With road-cases full of tone-toys, and Dr. Scientist too.
And then, in a jangling, I heard on the stand
The rhythm and harmony of each one in his band.
It drew in my ear, and was an amazing sound,
Down by his pedals Dr. Scientist tweaked, as he knelt on the ground.
He was garbed in a spacesuit, from his head to his toe,
And his vestments were tarnished from space-time travel and who knows?
A bundle of patch-cords he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a sonic-tweaker should, with some pedals mounted in a rack.
His tremolo -- how it twinkled! his delays how merry!
His chorus was like a sonic rose, his OD noise just the right amount of hairy!
His droll little reverb sounded like a big chateau,
But the highlight of his effects chain was The Elements as white as the snow;
The stump of a pick he held tight in his teeth,
And his pedals encircled his feet like a robotic wreath;
He had more fuzz than any Fuzzface and dialled it in a little trebly,
That shook the room, when he strummed his candy-red Tele.
His tones ranged from bubbly to plump, aural delights of great wealth,
And I laughed when I heard him, in spite of myself;
A wink of his eye and a tweak of his amp head,
Soon gave me inspiration of new things to shred;
He sang not a word, but went straight to his solo,
And filled all the air; then returned to his tremolo,
And laying his plectrum aside of his pedals,
And giving a nod, his delay trails he continued to fettle;
He then sprang to his bus, to his roadies gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like a moon-bound missile.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove off to parts unknown,
"Happy Fuzzmas to all, and to all a good tone."
Cheers,
FF